


Who He Loves

by lizthefangirl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Canon-Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Praimfaya, Some Humor, The Ark, The Delinquints, season five, spacekru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 12:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizthefangirl/pseuds/lizthefangirl
Summary: Bellamy was the one in the algae coma on the Ark.





	Who He Loves

"Okay, I  _think_ this is right," Monty announced, heaving the pot onto the table. The rations had lasted three months, far less time than they had anticipated.

Naturally, Murphy was the first to chime in. "It literally looks like sh—"

"Thank you, Monty," Harper offered tightly. "Okay, guys, pass your bowls around."

"Bowels?"

"John," Emori sighed.

They took turns to ladel the brownish-green goop. Even Harper had to fight a gag as the pungent scent wafted upwards.

"So, um," Monty began, stirring his, "I think the best way to do it is to just—"

Slurping sounded across the room. 

Echo still didn't feel comfortable eating with the others, and as far as most of them were concerned, it wasn't for any ill-will; they were nothing if not respectful of personal space. They watched as she drained the bowl, then almost mechanically set it down. "It's fine," she said blandly.

Not to be outdone, the rest of them nodded slightly at one another. "On three," Raven said. 

To their credit, no one backed out at the final moment. No one chugged either: In fact, they all made it precisely one gulp before choking and crying out rather violently. Bellamy was the first to resume, then Raven, Harper, Emori, Murphy—with Monty being the last to do so. It took four minutes for them all to finish the one bowl.

Echo watched as Monty finished, then curtly rose and sprinted towards the bathroom.

—

Thankfully, there were enough bathrooms for everyone on the Ark; however, no one could muffle their sounds of illness, some of which even travelled through the vents. None looked forward to the next evening's attempt at dinner, though hunger clawed at their weak bellies. 

Eventually the hour arrived, though the meal was delayed slightly as they waited for Bellamy. No one had seen him all day—which wasn't all that unusual. He isolated himself when he could, though wasn't completely inactive. If someone needed his assistance, he'd give it—gladly. He'd even be in decently high spirits in most conversations. Otherwise, he would shut himself in. His reason was an unspoken one, that hung in the air every second of every day.

They rarely spoke of her, though mutually honored her in all that they did. 

"Is he really gonna chicken out that fast?" Murphy quipped.

"Don't say 'chicken'" Raven groaned, patting her stomach. "We can wait on him. Seriously. . . As long as he needs."

Minutes passed, until Murphy finally banged lightly on the table with his fists. "I think I'll chicken out with him," he said, starting to rise.

"You need nutrition," Emori chided. "We all do."

"I  _need_ to sleep in the bedroom, not the bathroom," he replied flatly, sauntering to Bellamy's chambers, planning how he'd tell him off. He rapped on his door. "Hey. You forget it's chow time or what?"

No answer. He knocked again with the same result, and finally sighed. "Cover up, big guy," he warned as he shouldered the door open—finding the room empty.

And a  _hot mess_. The sheets were twisted, clothes and towels splayed all over the floor, along with one of the two pillows they each had. "Damn," he muttered—then went rigid as he spotted a bare foot across the threshold of the attached bathroom.

Murphy rushed forward to where Bellamy was as haphazardly draped as his belongings on the floor. His face shone with sweat, though his skin was cold—but he was breathing. Murphy scrambled down the hall, crying, "Man down!" 

—

"His temperature is still normal," Monty announced, leaning back. 

The six friends sat and stood around his bed—as they had been for nearly twenty-four hours. The ring wasn't short on medical supplies, which had been carefully inventoried long before. They had an I.V. in his arm, as well as a clamp on his finger to track his vitals. While they didn't want to worsen his condition by tube-feeding him more algae, they had discovered that it didn't help to miss a helping; the bodily results still weren't great, but they were certainly improving. But since none of them were experienced in the procedure of tube-feeding, they settled for keeping an eye on him. 

"This would be a merciful death," Echo said suddenly. 

Slowly, the group turned to her. 

She peered at them, cheeks actually flushing. "I thought you might take comfort in—"

"He's not  _dying_ ," Raven snapped. "He's in a coma because he has a weak stomach."

"I think it was sleep deprivation, too," Monty said softly. "We've all. . . noticed, haven't we? How he's been?"

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, though no one denied it. 

"He can't blame himself for what happened," Emori said. "Surely not."

"It wouldn't be very Bellamy of him if he didn't," Murphy muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Look at this place. It's like a tortured teenager lives here."

"You would know," Raven said.

"He's not wrong, though," Harper admitted, wrinkling her nose at the disarray. "But like Monty said. . . It's been three months. He's not getting much better."

Murphy huffed. "So what, we have an intervention for a grown-ass man?"

"Enough, Murphy," Harper said firmly. "We should discuss it now. What we can do to help him."

"Every time we mention her name, he checks out," Monty considered. "So maybe. . . keep avoiding that." 

They nodded. 

"We should try to get him involved in more stuff, anything at all. Just to keep his head busy," Raven suggested, adding with a wince, "Except maybe the cooking."

Bellamy's finger twitched, every pair of eyes locking on the movement. 

"Guess he agrees," Harper grinned.

"Maybe a clean-up day," Monty said. "It could be for everybody. This can't be the only room that needs it." Everyone supported the concept.

"Any ideas, Echo?" They stared at Emori, who sounded earnest.

She didn't so much as flinch under their gaze, but her brow lowered in thought. "If he wishes to be alone, you should let him. The nights are the hardest." At their startled expressions, she sighed, "I was a  _spy_."

"It's okay," Harper said quietly, sensing an outburst from Murphy. "That's good to know. Thanks."

" _Clarke_."

His voice was low and hoarse, but cut through the room like a shout. Emotions roiled across the crew, as they always did when anyone spoke her name. But hearing  _him_ say it. . . It wasn't that he never referenced her by accident, but it was always  _she._ Never her name. 

"One more thing," Raven said tightly. " _That_ stays between us."

—

_The sky was aflame, an ocean dyed orange and pink and lilac, spreading around them far as they could see on their little sailboat._

_Theirs. The two of them._

_She had freckles on her nose, like his. Her eyes crinkled as the salty wind swept her hair back, cast in the gorgeous warm hues and turning her skin gold. Dressed so simply in a t-shirt and jeans. "This is kind of incredible."  
_

_Bellamy's brows rose. "Kind of?"_

_"Yeah."_

_He chuckled, crossing the deck to sit with her. "I almost prefer it to the stars."  
_

_"Are you kidding me?" she crowed. "I've seen the stars practically every day of my life. Of course they're amazing, but. . . this has color."_

_"That's true." Even as the moment was filled with blissful joy, something hung over them, like a blackened cloud. In truth, it followed him everywhere. "I left you behind."_

_"So did I," she said simply._

_He blinked as he remembered a dark moment in their past—when she_   _left him at the gates of Camp Jaha. When he'd confronted her after she'd changed, transformed—  
_

_He always regretted the way he'd spoken to her. But he'd done what he thought he had to—and she'd forgiven him._

_"Not like this," he replied, peering upwards. "I didn't. . . say enough to you, Clarke."_

_"It's okay. You can tell me later."  
_

_"You're not—" He shook his head, eyes burning—from the wind, from the sudden pain in his chest, his stomach. "Clarke, you didn't survive that day."  
_

_She looked at him, gaze clear under furrowed brows. "But I'm here with you now. How?"  
_

_"I don't know," he confessed. "I don't know. But you're. . . a ghost. You have to be."_

_"I don't_ have  _to be anything," she said drily. "I don't have to be dead."_

_"You do, though." He swallowed roughly, nodding. "If I keep this up, it'll kill me, too."_

_"Keep what up?"  
_

_He sighed, shaking his head. God, his stomach—_

_He closed his eyes._

_"Bellamy." His name was carried on the breeze. "Can you tell me now?"_

_"What?"  
_

_"You didn't say enough. So do it."_

_He rasped a laugh. "I don't know if I can. Even to your ghost."_

_"Well that makes about zero sense," she retorted._

_"If I say those things," he whispered, "I'll have to carry them with me when I leave here."_

_"What if you don't leave here?"_

_"Then I'm probably—no, definitely dead."_

_"So I'm your idea of hell."_

_"Persephone," he chuckled, opening his eyes at last—and finding the golden waters completely calm, almost too still. "Did you know? Or. . . suspect?"_

_"I think so, a little bit," she admitted quietly._

_"I wasn't sure about all of what I felt," he said, "but it was real. And it was growing. I thought. . . I thought if I was with you up there for five years, then there would be no fighting it. Maybe I wouldn't have to, anymore. The worst part is, I know now, all of the things I couldn't admit to myself then."_

_"Still kinda vague, Blake."_

_He scoffed, letting the massive sun blare into his eyes. "God, I—I loved you, Clarke. I loved you so much."_

_She was quiet as the words tore through them both in the dimming dusk. He released a low, broken noise from his throat, hanging his head. "I wanted to stay, I wanted to stay with you."_

_"You couldn't," she murmured, gentle. "It would have killed you. And our friends needed you."_

_"I needed_ you _," he choked. "I still do."_

_"You have me," she said, laying an impossible hand on his arm, causing the twisting in his gut to cease—but his heart to nearly jump from his chest. "Bellamy, you always have me. You know that."_

_"I don't know what to do." He clutched her fingers—somehow so real. So solid. "Clarke. I don't know what to do."_

_"Look at me." He did, slowly. Her beautiful eyes shone as she said, "Heal. Keep yourself together. Wake up, clean yourself, work, eat—do what you have to do, but don't dwell in this pain. Please. . . give that love to the people around you. They need it."_

_His chest tightened as she cupped his face. "And you have to know I loved you, too."_

_He smiled slightly, careful as he reached for her hand again—desperately frightened it would vanish in his grasp. But it was warm in his, and he never looked from her face as he pressed his mouth to her knuckles. "Don't have to do anything," he rasped. "But yeah. I know."_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Still stunned that 5.08 lived up to the hype. I knew as soon as Monty mentioned the coma that I had to write this! Comments are welcome as always. I think we've got our canon Blarke, guys....


End file.
